Seeing Each Other
by SEMScandal
Summary: Just a few character explorations of Fitz and Olivia.
1. What You See

_**I want to get back into writing this summer. In advance of that, I am playing with the characters a bit, getting to know them. First up, Fitz! Please provide feedback, I love knowing your thoughts.**_

**WHAT OTHERS SEE**

The mirror was still slightly fogged from the warm shower he had just stepped out of. He rubbed his hand through the liquid on the glass until he could really see the figure standing in front of him. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, with just a hint of salt-and-pepper hair on his toned chest.

He sighed. "Not bad, old man."

His fingers traveled over his torso, catching the small scar on his collarbone. When he was 10, Bobby Watkins had dared him to race his bike over the ravine. He was winning until the front tire hit a rock and sent him head first into a bush. Fortunately, his head was fine, but he broke his collarbone in the fall, cutting his skin on the brambles.

He peered at his hairline closely. You could still see the tiny remembrance of his near-death meeting with a bullet. He sighed even more deeply. That small mark on his forehead reminded him of her, of how he saw her differently after he was released from the hospital. She was no longer just a pretty face that had won his heart. She was everything.

He stood a bit straighter trying to imagine her peering at him through the mirror. What does she see when she looks at me? he thought. He put on his white suit shirt, the crisp cool cotton caressing his warm flesh.

Does she see the power I have or weakness I feel?

One button, then two.

Am I honorable to her, to the American people?

Adjust the collar, tuck the flaps into slacks.

Does she trust that my heart is as full of love for her as I say it is?

He put on his tie and examined himself in the mirror, dry at this point and much clearer than before. He squared his shoulders and threw his head back to stand tall as he brought the sides of his suit jacket forward and buttoned them in front.

"I am the President", he said aloud, his typical morning affirmation. And she will see the real me. She must.

If you have any other creative situations for me to explore with Fitz and/or Olivia, let me know. Just flexing my writing muscles a bit before I get too far gone :-)


	2. Running Away

Olivia slammed the door to her apartment and dropped her bag on the armchair. It had been one of those days, one that would normally send her to the pool to swim laps until her lungs burned from the chlorine. But today, she wanted to run. Today, she needed to feel the sun on her skin and to fill her chest with the crisp spring D.C. air.

She threw on a ratty set of workout clothes and began to lace up her shoes when she remembered his hands on her ankles helping her to take off her heels last night. At the time, she thought it was a romantic gesture, and she languished in the feel of his strong hands on her feet. And then…then he asked her to love him and she did what she always did. She ran.

She started at a slow pace, feeling her calves and quads gradually fill with warmth. The air felt nice against her face and she breathed in its sweetness. Fitz always said that the fragrance of the cherry blossoms reminded him of her essence, the thought of which sent the blood rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment. She shouldn't have given herself to him so soon, so early on. Now, she was caught up in something she wasn't even sure she wanted.

She turned sharply towards the river, following its meandering banks as her pace quickened. She tried to remember to breathe into the pads of her feet, feeling the concrete beneath her toes with each stride.

It wasn't fear, was it? No, she wasn't afraid of her love for Fitz. In fact, most days it consumed her with a passion that she didn't even know could exist in her tiny frame. Hardly a moment went by that her body didn't crave his touch or a chance to explore his equally sexy mind.

She had been in love before, so she was aware of it. Her problem wasn't fear of love, it was fear of loss of control. Since the beginning of her business, she had defined the narrative. She had convinced the public to believe and hear what she wanted them to believe and hear. And for the first time in her life, the narrative wasn't hers. It was constant emotional, passionate outbursts, declarations of love from a man who was in control of her. She was his everything, he said. How could she be everything to someone when she wasn't even sure what everything was supposed to be?

Her strides were coming faster now. She could see the awe in the other joggers she passed, envious of her power and speed. The river's current was no match for her as she sped along the banks.

This was not the Olivia Pope she knew. This was not the powerful, fierce gladiator that her staff admired. What had happened to her? The love she had for him consumed her. It clouded her judgment, it affected her moods. She was unable to concentrate when away from him from extended periods. How could she possibly be giving up the control of her life, the narrative she created, to someone else?

She began to feel the telltale cramping in her thighs as pain pierced her legs. She was careening out of control. Her lungs were on fire as the taste of blood came into her mouth. She stopped suddenly and bent in half, her hands supporting her weight on her knees as her breaths came ragged and broken.  
After a few minutes, she spotted a bench and collapsed onto it, taking her head into her hands.

_What is wrong with me,_ she thought. _I love him more than anyone. Why am I so afraid to stop running_?

As she looked up, she spied an elderly couple walking leisurely down the path, supporting each other with their embrace. At one point, the man bent down to remove a branch from the path, and as he came back up, he gave his wife a reassuring kiss. A small smile spread across her face as she witnessed this pure and undying love. She knew that whatever she was feeling, it had to be worth it in the end.

"Enough, Olivia," she whispered aloud.

She pushed herself off the bench, taking a long stretch to each side, before beginning the slow walk home. It was time to stop running.


End file.
